Crunch Time (25 page)

He gave her a sardonic look. ‘Yeah,' he said tiredly, ‘I guess I am.'

‘W
hat the hell do you think I'm going to do, leave the country?' Henry glared at the SS-bespectacled Dave Anger in disbelief. ‘Some things are more important than effing crime scenes!'

‘Listen you, you … fucker, despite me not liking you one jot, I've pulled out my tripe on your behalf and I expect a bit of cooperation in return.'

It had degenerated into a contest to see who could insert the ‘f' word in as many places as possible in the dialogue, from which no one was going to emerge smelling of roses. This, however, did not stop Henry from ranting.

‘My fucking house has been burned down by a maniac, my wife's in hospital and you expect me to stay here and then go to a nick with you to be questioned? Not a fucking chance in hell, you fucking, unfeeling twat.'

Anger adjusted his glasses. His face was scarlet with the argument.

‘Henry' – he coughed to clear his throat – ‘Henry, there's a guy been double-tapped in the chest, by you; there's another been kicked unconscious, by you,' he pointed out, not unreasonably.

‘Hey – stop right there, right now,' Henry commanded.

The altercation between the two fractious officers was taking place very publicly at the front door of the farmhouse owned by Ingram.

Andrea Makin watched, agog.

Other cops, medics, gathered and ogled from a respectful distance.

‘I'll give you the gist again. They were going to kill me and they were going to rape that little girl Ingram had abducted.' His eyes were wide, mad looking, lots of white showing. ‘I acted in self-defence, end of story, details to follow later. That's all you need to know. The crime scene itself is pure, too.'

He stared threateningly at Anger.

‘Someone let Ingram know I was a cop,' he then added, not for the first time, either. It was like a steel wire was constricting his chest, being pulled tighter, like some medieval form of torture. His teeth ground together. He leaned towards Anger. ‘Either fucking arrest me, or let me go home.'

The fucking contest was over.

‘OK, love?'

Gina nodded, took hold of Henry's hand. Together they walked towards the Lancashire force helicopter, India 99, the mode of transport scrambled to enable Makin and Anger and two armed officers to make the journey right across Lancashire once Henry's position had been triangulated by means of the mobile phone pulse.

An air ambulance had also been, and gone, having conveyed the two casualties, plus armed officers to guard them, to hospital.

She squeezed his hand, making him feel like the weak one.

‘Was that your boss?' she asked.

‘Sort of.'

‘He doesn't like you much,' she said. ‘Have you done something to upset him?'

‘Not recently,' Henry reflected.

The helicopter had landed in a field in front of the farmhouse. As he and Gina walked to it, he glanced back at the police/ambulance activity. It was frantic, but he was curiously detached from it. What had happened there was, for the moment, strange and unreal.

‘I've never been in a helicopter,' Gina said. ‘Have you?'

‘Once or twice,' he responded absently, but didn't add that it wasn't his most favourite form of transport. It gave him the willies. ‘How are you feeling?'

‘Sore and still scared,' she answered.

‘Me too.'

‘Henry!'

Andrea Makin was running towards him. She braked as she got close. ‘Can we have a quick word?'

Henry detached himself from Gina's grip and walked a few steps away.

‘Can't it wait?' he asked irritably.

‘Look,' she said apologetically, ‘sorry for getting you into this mess.'

‘It was my choice. I could've refused, but no, I wanted action and adventure and ended up with … shit!'

‘I'm sorry, but we do need to have a talk sooner rather than later.'

‘I know … but …' He gestured towards the helicopter.

‘You need to get back to Kate. I understand.'

‘And to get this little lass back to Mum and Dad.'

Arrangements had already been made to kill two birds with one stone. Although the paramedics at the scene had treated Gina for the injuries she'd sustained from Ingram's beating, they had still insisted she needed to go to hospital to be thoroughly checked over. The compromise reached, with Gina's consent, was that the police helicopter would take her back across the country to be reunited with her parents at Blackpool Victoria Hospital. That also meant Henry could link up with Kate and Karl Donaldson who were there, too, and get checked over himself. A double reunion.

‘I promise I won't go on the run.'

‘I know.' Makin touched Henry's face tenderly with the palm of her hand and tiptoed up to him, brushing her lips across his cheek. She whispered, ‘I wish you'd killed him.'

‘Dead men tell no tales … and I expect you'd rather get the story out of him than bury him without knowing the truth about your niece and other girls.'

‘In my heart I know the truth.'

Henry walked back to Gina, took her hand and they jogged to the helicopter, ducking down under the rotor blades, then climbing in to the passenger seats behind the pilot and observer.

Immediately the blades began to whump around.

The observer handed them both helmets, which they fitted after strapping themselves in. Henry's was tight, crushing his ears and cheeks; Gina's rattled loosely on her small head.

They held each other's hands as the ungainly machine defied all the laws of physics, built up power and lifted from the ground, tilted forwards, then was up in the sky.

The overnight rain had cleared. It was a fine day for flying.

Fifteen minutes later they landed on the helipad at BVH, a small crowd there to receive them. As Henry and Gina dismounted, her parents broke free from the throng and rushed towards their little girl, arms outstretched, overcome with relief. Gina walked coolly towards them and Henry smiled at her. She had remained so composed, yet he wondered what would happen to her when the reality of the situation struck, which he knew it would.

She was whisked away by her parents, a nurse and a policewoman, leaving Henry to walk away from the helicopter, acknowledging the pilot and observer with a nod of grateful thanks for getting him back alive.

He ducked under the blades and walked towards the big figure of Karl Donaldson, who stood waiting for him, hands on hips and a crooked smile playing on his mouth.

Henry approached him cautiously, squinting at his bulk.

‘H, you look like shit.'

‘And you're a big, good-looking mother, which really annoys me.'

Pleasantries over, something moved inside each of them and they shared a manly hug with lots of shoulder patting. Henry squeaked in pain.

‘I believe I need to thank you.'

Donaldson shrugged modestly. They headed to the hospital, as behind them the helicopter rose into the sky, banked and returned to base at Warton Aerodrome.

Henry limped and groaned. Suddenly, all the adrenalin left him. He sagged down and reached out to grasp Donaldson's sleeve. The American caught him.

‘Whoa, there.'

‘Sorry, sorry, pal.' Then he went slightly dizzy. ‘Hell.'

The American slid his arm around Henry's back, held him upright and assisted him all the way to A&E whilst telling him what had gone on at the house, the fire, Kate, the rescue.

After what seemed like a five-mile trek, they entered the hospital, by which time Henry had regained some of his macho dignity and was walking without aid.

‘I need to see Kate first. She is OK, isn't she?'

‘She's fine,' Donaldson reassured him, and not for the first time. ‘Breathed in some smoke and twisted her ankle when I threw her out of the bedroom window – joke … In fact, she did more damage to my car, dented the goddamned roof, man,' he mock-whined.

He led Henry through the department to a cubicle in which Kate sat up on a bed with an oxygen mask over her face. Their daughters, Leanne and Jenny, were at her bedside.

As soon as they saw Henry, they all burst into tears as if on cue.

As did Henry.

Karl Donaldson looked away and hid his own tears.

Discharged after a fairly perfunctory examination, Henry sat in the waiting room of the A&E department six hours after having presented himself to the triage nurse. He had a polystyrene cup of coffee in his hands, which tasted just like the material of the cup it was in, and was staring unblinkingly at the tiled floor, still trying to come down.

The pains in his body were great, but now under control with the assistance of good quality analgesics, and though his breathing was uncomfortable – two cracked ribs confirmed by an X-ray – he was feeling better physically, but mentally still fuzzed-up and cracked-out.

‘DCI Christie?'

Henry raised his eyes to see a man standing in front of him. He recognized Gina's father, an amiable looking gent around the thirty mark. He looked exhausted as he extended his right hand. Henry sat creakily upright and they shook.

‘I need to thank you. You saved Gina's life.'

‘How is she?'

The father blew out his cheeks. ‘OK,' he said cautiously, ‘but I expect that may change.'

‘She's a brave kid, but she has seen and experienced some bad things. I'm sorry she had to go through it and I'm sorry I couldn't prevent her getting a battering.'

‘The physical scars will heal.'

Henry nodded. ‘I'll come and see her soon.'

‘Look forward to it.' He touched Henry's shoulder, his chin wobbling, then left. Henry sat back, closed his eyes, resting his cup on his knee.

‘She'll be out in a few minutes.' Henry came to with a start. In front of him now was Karl Donaldson. ‘Don't fall asleep – you'll spill. I'll go and bring the car around.'

‘Thanks, Karl.'

‘No big deal.'

‘Yeah it is – very big deal.'

‘Hey, asshole! That's what friends are for.' He spun away. Henry watched his departure, as did several google-eyed nurses, including a male one.

‘Good-looking bastard,' Henry said, sotto voce.

He was now desperately exhausted, but there was still much to do, not least to go and inspect the house and arrange alternative accommodation, two tasks he was dreading. But something else came to mind.

Henry hobbled through the hospital corridors, suddenly driven, ignoring the pain.

‘Bastard, bastard,' he kept mouthing through gritted teeth.

He walked, unchallenged, into the intensive care unit, moved from bed to bed until he found the one he was looking for – but he did not find the patient he was looking for.

He went back to the office at the top of the ward and knocked gently, pushing his tender head through. A nurse glanced up from some forms he was completing. ‘Can I help you?'

‘Hello, I'm … er …' he began, still a little befuddled. ‘Troy Costain … I'm after Troy Costain … he was brought here last evening following an assault. He had surgery?'

‘Are you a relative?'

‘I'm a police officer … and a friend of his.'

‘Do you have some ID?'

‘No, I'm afraid not,' he jerked helplessly. ‘I just want to know how he is.'

‘You don't look like a police officer.'

‘It's been a long night.'

She considered him thoughtfully, then her eyes softened. She blew a little breath out of her nose. ‘I'm afraid I have some bad news. Mr Costain had to be taken urgently to surgery to remove a blood clot from his brain … unfortunately he suffered a heart attack on the operating table and died.'

‘I
very much doubt he'll say a dicky bird.'

Andrea Makin linked an arm though Henry Christie's. The two of them were on a three-mile stroll from the front entrance of the headquarters building, through a posh housing estate built on a site which was once an agricultural college, then looping back along a country lane to HQ. Three miles, a distance and route Henry often ran at lunch times from his Special Projects office.

It was a pleasant, warm day, no breeze. Good walking weather.

She pulled herself tighter to him and looked up into his face.

‘This is non-sexual, by the way.'

‘Damn! OK,' he said, feigning disappointment.

‘I can see you love Kate … isn't it about time you did the honourable thing?'

‘We're pretty comfortable,' he said, uncomfortably clearing his throat. ‘You were saying about Ingram?'

‘He's still being cared for in hospital, now on a private ward, surrounded by briefs, but guarded by cops. He's going to live, unfortunately. As soon as he's well enough, he'll be in custody.'

‘And Mitch?'

‘Very much alive, but with a sore head. He's about to be charged. Your statement, plus the gun, plus the tooth-diamond we found on him, and the drugs, have pretty much sewn him up. He's in Stratford and once they've finished with him, I'll move in.'

Henry took a deep breath.

It was one week later. His physical injuries were still hurting, but improving daily. Mentally he was still a mess, all tangled up. He had taken sick leave and, for the first time in his career, was in no hurry to return to work.

He'd done what needed to be done in terms of being debriefed and providing statements, even had a session with the police psychologist just to appease the powers that be, in case they got sued later for using an undercover cop who wasn't fully capable of doing the role. Beyond that, the days had been spent sorting out his private life.

Kate was a wreck, needing constant reassurance, and his daughters were much the same. He knew he had to be there for them.

The house had been gutted by the fire and they were now living in a rented house, courtesy of the insurance company. An early estimate to restore the house to its former glory was two hundred grand, give or take.